


The Colors of Graffiti and Coffee.

by Itty_Bitty_Albatross



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Coffee Shop, Graffiti, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-01-13 17:27:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1234936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itty_Bitty_Albatross/pseuds/Itty_Bitty_Albatross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Percy's the co-owner of Mycenae's Coffee.  Nico's been painting the walls in the dead of night. Tension ensues, and all that accompanies it. <br/>Coffee Shop!AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In A Thermos.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: If I was the genius that came up with PJ, HOO, or anything else, I would have done something successful with my life. Instead, I'm wearing nothing but sweatpants, wrapped in a blanket, avoiding people, and playing with other people's toys.

_Part 1._

"You're kidding me." Grover's voice was tinny in Percy's ear, coming through the cell phone. Percy, at the moment, was standing on the sidewalk in front of their building.

"Mycenae's Coffee", read the sign a few feet above the door. Percy and Grover own this coffee shop. It's a great shop, fantastic, even, between Percy's great skill at running a coffee machine and Grover's great skill at picking out different cupcakes and stuff (most of which gets taste-tested all too frequently, but what are you gonna do?).

But the problem, the problem that had been annoying the two for a month now, was the vivid, intricately detailed mural of unnatural proportion, put on their store front without their permission or desire for it to be there.

Graffiti.

From an objective—and artistic—perspective, Percy saw the sheer beauty in the work. Their sign declaring the place "Mycenae's Coffee" had been left alone, as had the window panes. What was colored, covered, in fact, was the brick front of their coffee shop. That was coated with ivy trails of greens—olive, meadow, Kelly, and the occasional stripe of lime or pastel green—and dancing skeletons in stark ivory, crisp edged and delicate boned. It was a playful, morbid art. It was a scene of the long-dead dancing in the woods, in this kind of freeing, contemplative, exuberant way.

From a subjective, this-is-my-business-and-my-motorcycle-needs-gas-damnit perspective, this mural was no good for business. Most of Percy and Grover's clientele were lawyers or students, snagging a coffee before a long day of work or a longer day of studying. And for some reason, it didn't seem they were all that happy about the creepy bones grinning and frolicking among the background of foliage. Grover had picked up the phone the first day to find complaints from the neighboring stores, and a couple of costumers and passersby.

The biggest perspective was the one that sent a chill down Percy's spine as he looked at the sprawl. It was creepy, demented, with the same slightly terrifying feel of a morbid picture, where you know you're missing something, and can't finish the puzzle and smooth out the hairs on the back of your neck.

Then there was the off thing, the thing that threw Percy for a loop the first time he had run his hand along the wall, to feel the texture of spray paint, the drawing had smeared through a skeleton's ribs and Percy's hand had come away powdery, chalked up with white and creams.

Chalk. Whoever came to their storefront on random nights, spent a long time drawing these things that spanned the wall, from the ground up to above eye-height, he used chalk.

It washed away with a hose, a rain, or a splash from a puddle as a car drove by a little too close to the curb. It was nothing but a temporary veil over the front of the plain reddish bricks.

"Well, our elusive painter strikes again!" The chipper voice came from behind Percy, just as the owner stepped into view. Red curls, plaid shirt, leggings in an entirely different plaid pattern: Rachel's clothes appearance was as eclectic as ever.

"Yeah." Percy grumbled half-heartedly. He disliked the graffiti—he'd even go so far as to say he hated it, sometimes, but he didn't begrudge the painter his due. He wanted to be mad at whoever chose their store to deface on a near-weekly basis, but since they'd gotten complaints, his heart wasn't in it. He liked rebelling too much. The cops dropped by and said something about security cameras, about stopping the criminal, which just made Percy applaud the guy all the more internally. He had guts, hitting the same spot repeatedly, for something that washed away.

Rachel took a step forward and ran a finger along the edge of a leaf, bringing it away with green under her nail.

"I think it's pretty." She declared.

"It is." Percy agreed. Rachel was an artist; she saw the appeal of the art, even if it might bring down her store's value.

Percy and Rachel (and Annabeth, Rachel's partner) had been hanging out since the girls bought the store directly to the left of Percy and Grover's. They ran a bath and body shop, the store filled with clean shelves of pots and bottles of good-smelling things. Annabeth had a knack for the chemicals, for figuring out what combinations would make what smell. Rachel was the one who sniffed it and said, 'more lemon, or, 'less sweet', correctly guessing what was going to sell and keep them in a steady income.

"He agrees!" Rachel yelled across the road, back to the propped-open door of Sculpture's Bath and Body.

"Duh!" Annabeth yelled back. It was lucky the street was empty, this early. Annabeth was using the tone of voice she always used when talking about Percy: soft, but harsh, like she wanted to protect him from others but refused to pull her own punches, because her and Percy might have been more than friends, but that wasn't an option anymore, and they were just fine with that. "Percy's weird!"

Percy grinned as Grover hopped off the bus, using his crutches as weapons to navigate through Percy and Rachel, to get a good look at their building front, all grumpy and hard-edged before he got his coffee. Grover sighed at the staring faces of bone, chalked on their store like a demented advertising campaign, before unlocking the building and going inside.

"Are you going to wash that off?" Grover inquired from inside, as Rachel drifted back to her shop. He didn't sound expectant, or demanding, in any way that would have irritated Percy, just curious.

Percy stared at it. Removing it would be proof that it irritated him, and he didn't want the creator to know that, because that was obviously what he was going for. Could he deal with leaving it up, all Day-of-the-Dead-ish, until the rain came as it always did?

The answer was that Percy didn't know. He'd see when he was a little less tired.

 

_Part 2._

The day after the rain came and washed the picture of the bricks down the drain, Percy started up his bike and tucked a few things into a backpack. Percy had procured the three stake-out necessities, according to Annabeth, who fully backed his plan.

First: a thermos of coffee. Coffee didn't seem to affect him much, because he was ADHD or ADD or something, but Annabeth assured him it would be helpful if for the middle of the night, when he'd be tucked safely just inside the building, where he could see through the giant window and (hopefully) catch the guy.

Second: a warm woven-nylon jacket. The heater in Mycenae's got turned off during the night, so it got pretty chilly. Percy wanted to figure out who it was who was marring their building, not freeze to death in the attempt.

Third: IPod shuffle, man. He was going to be sitting there freaking forever.

As it happened, that was what happened. He sat there, imagining the cold seeping into his bones and turning them to ice (even though he really wasn't nearly that cold), listening to music (the same songs over and over), and drinking all the coffee (he had to run to the bathroom twice, darting in and out as fast and invisibly as he could).

"Guess he didn't show?" Annabeth prodded, sweeping in around noon to grab a muffin, and yelling extra loud just to mess with Percy's sleep deprived hearing.

"No." Percy grumbled, and Grover harrumphed.

"Are you going to stay again tonight?"

"Yes." Percy looked out the window at the street, at the colorful cars and bland people walking by. Someone, maybe someone walking or driving past, had picked their coffee shop to be the recipients of a dastardly game where dead people were chalked onto their front. It was a game, and Percy liked games, and he was going to win.

So that night he brewed two pots of coffee, and stayed behind, holding there early.

He put his earbuds in, listened to everything in his library, and waited.

Percy wasn't keeping track of time, so he didn't know exactly when it was when the flashlight pierced through the darkness in the shop through the window. Percy was tucked behind the counter, where he knew he couldn't be seen (he may or may not have had to hide from people here before, cowering behind Grover). The flashlight slid straight past him, and Percy heard a thump, like something was being opened.

Percy crept up, dropping his music and carefully picking his way to the door. He heard the shuffling of someone just on the other side of the door.

Percy slung the door open and threw himself at the person whose hand was brushing up against the bricks near the window. With an 'oof!' both people fell, in a tangle of limbs. Percy was pushed off, suddenly, but the other person seemed stunned slightly before he (it was definitely a he, and a shapely one judging by the muscles and lean limbs that had been tucked all up around him) ran off, zigzagging slightly.

Percy hefted himself up off the sidewalk, and swore, tripping over a pile of chalk, watching the figure in black dart away down the street.

Percy looked at the wall, saw a streak of grey-green, and decided he'd just have to try again, then.


	2. In A Refillable Cup.

_Part 1._

That afternoon Percy shuffled around the shop, absently sweeping things under the counter and tables because Grover was in the back, and wouldn’t get on him for it.

He was thinking, hard, because it seemed to him that he had two options, and neither of them was that good.

a) He could stay again, tonight, and try to grab the painter again. But then, he might drive him off (if he hadn’t already) and Percy didn’t want him to just up and vanish, he wanted to know why he’d showed up in the first place.

b) He could leave the guy be, for a while. Lull him into a sense of stability, of calming safety. Then, strike when it was least expected like a bird swooping down on its prey.

_‘Yeah, let’s go with option b.’_   Percy decided, carefully kneeling and piling up the days’ worth of floor grit, brushing it under the entry way rug before Grover left the kitchen in the back and caught him.

“Hello.” The voice was deep, strangely echo-y, and right above Percy’s head.

Percy straightened up, already fixing his ‘I-swear-there’s-a-good-reason-for-this’ look on his face. That face got a lot of screen time.

“Hello.” Percy said, before getting a good look at the customer. He was young, dark, tall, with the dramatic look of someone’s who’s handsome (really, really handsome) and knows it. Shaggy hair smoothed back, obsidian eyes, and an olive skin tone stood out against the brick walls of the café. This was the kind of guy that annoyed Percy; Percy was a handsome dude, if he did say so himself, but this was the kind of guy that was _striking_ , even pretty in the right light. “Hello.” Percy repeated, dumbly, before catching himself.

He quickly strode back around the counter and shoved the broom behind a cabinet and his hands under the faucet, scrubbing.

“Can I help you?” _Good, Percy, safe question. Even Grover would be proud of that one._

“Yes.” The guy walked in, smirking as he stepped over the rug. “I’ll have a…” He trailed off has he looked up at the sign behind the counter. There were a lot of options, but pretty clear to understand and order (no complicated lines of words in other languages).

“The mocha espresso’s pretty good.” Percy offered, after a moment of just standing there awkwardly.

“An east coast roast, large, black, no sugar.” Tall, Dark, and Pretty rattled off. Percy winced in sympathy as he turned to get it. That was one bitter brew.

“It’s actually good.” He sounded amused, to Percy.

“Really?” Percy asked incredulously.

“No.” The other one deadpanned. “I think it just finally killed my taste buds.”

Percy chuckled. So he had a sense of humor.

“Actually,” the guy said, pointing to a shelf of plastic refillable mugs, the kind you could bring back in for a discount, “I’ll get it in one of those.”

Percy smiled at the coffee he poured into the green cup. He’d be back, then.

Percy slid the cup across the counter and what’s-his-face took a drink. It made sense, to Percy, that this guy he didn’t know would take his coffee burnt. He had burning eyes and he was a person that was like danger, was bitter, and Percy wanted to just gulp it down without a hint of masking flavor or pretend sweetness.

Er, or he’d get him a muffin. That’d be a better, and more acceptable, idea.

“Do you want a muffin?” Percy offered brightly. The other guy looked caught by surprise, and he eyed the selection through the glass.

“Um.” He looked at them like they scared him, like he had no idea what a muffin was or what its purpose was. Percy hid a laugh.

The door swung open wide, hitting the wall with a thump.

“Peeeeeeeeeercccccccyyy!” The blonde-haloed girl in the doorway shrieked. Percy swore quietly and Grover poked a head out from the back room.

“Annabeth.” They said in tandem. She stalked into the room, a redhead (today wearing various colored polka-dots) following at her heels with an amused expression.

“What?” Percy asked. Grover scoffed and went back to hide with the oven and his new recipes.

“I’ve got class in thirty minutes and my car won’t start!” She parked herself in front of the counter. “Let me borrow your bike?”

“Sure.” Percy said brightly, after a beat of hesitation. He’d normally trust Annabeth with his one, true love of a motorcycle (called Blackjack because obviously) any day of the week. Except, of course, the day she looked half-manic because she might miss the lecture of the structure of Pueblo Indian structures.

“Nico!” Now that she had a ride, and wouldn’t miss the (if you were to ask Percy, boring) lecture, she spotted and apparently recognized Tall, Dark, and Pretty.

“Annabeth.” Nico acknowledged her back slowly, trying to sidle back up to the counter while pulling out his wallet.

“You two know each other?” Percy squeaked— _said, it was a very not-squeaky, very manly said_ —at Annabeth.

Long story short, they went to the some of the same classes. Percy was relieved, which made no sense, because this Nico was hardly Annabeth’s type.

After the two of them chatted for a moment, Nico finally got around to tapping on the glass to indicate a muffin he wanted (blueberry and granola, one of Grover’s smarter recipes). Percy gave it to him and he left the café as Annabeth bid a goodbye, heading out with the beaded-leather keychain with Percy’s keys on it.

 

_Part 2._

Percy decided to play a different game that night. He couldn’t keep functioning on that little sleep.

So he went over to Rachel and Annabeth’s right before closing up, asked to borrow something from Rachel. Rachel, with her soft colored hair and bright colored fingers, who lent him what he asked for with a large, toothy, equally bright smile, she winked and said “Make it fun, okay? He’s got your attention, get his!”

Percy grumbled but fingered the smooth sticks in his pocket, thinking.

_“Who are you?”_ He wrote in looping pink (damn you, Rachel) chalk across the brick faces. Then, he eyed the message. If he started out like that, all direct and challenging, he wasn’t going to get an answer. He scooped up a handful of water out of a puddle on the street, rubbing it over the words until they formed a pastel smear. Then he moved the chalk up a couple bricks, and tried again.

_“What do you—”._ He didn’t even finish the line that time, scowling at himself and rubbing it away.

Once more.

_“Why are you doing this?”_ He demanded on the rough surface, words falling away into the crevasses in the grout. Then he brushed off his hands, nodded at his handiwork, and walked the long walk home without his bike.

 

The next day, he rode into work, having gotten his bike back from Annabeth with no visible damage.

A wall of dancing skeletons greeted him, heralding his return with gaping smiles.

Below one’s outstretched arm, written in a softer, paler, more washed out shade of pink, was a line of calligraphy.

_“I wanted to. I could. Besides, it looks better like this. . ."_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Review, loves.   
> And see if you can find the Easter Egg!   
> Tobi.


	3. In A Coffee Maker.

_Part I._

_“I wanted to. I could. Besides, it looks better like this.”_

Percy was stewing all morning, thinking over the cryptic and unhelpful message on the bricks out front. Actually, the vandal had answered Percy’s question perfectly; that was a big thing that bothered Percy!

From the answer, one would think the jerk had no reason to hit their store all the time. no reason at all. And that was stupid.

Percy didn’t realize he was grumbling profanities under his breath until the accountant who was trading him a coffee (super sweet, half cream and sugar) for a few neatly folded bills looked up, shocked.

“Sorry.” Percy muttered, mentally kicking himself. The last thing he needed was to drive off even more of their clientele. Percy had taken it upon himself to wash the graffiti off with a garden hose when he showed up that morning, maybe turning up the pressure more than was strictly necessary for chalk, venting his frustration on the brick-front.

The door jingled and Percy absently asked “What can I get for you?” without looking up, instead scraping at something sticky and dark on the countertop. Grover would kill him for leaving it (whatever it was) there to harden into something much harder to get off.

“A large east coast roast, no sugar, no cream.” There was that voice that made Percy forget how to speak, let alone acknowledge the order. It was tall, dark, and pretty, Nico.

“Nico!” Percy said out loud, accepting the cup from the other guy. It was the refillable cup from last time, which meant he got a half-price drink.

“Percy.” Nico answered in kind.

“How are you doing?” Percy tried to fill the quiet as Nico watched him wash his hands and fix the drink.

“Tired.” Nico leaned out over the counter into Percy’s working space, and Percy didn’t mind the loss of personal space at all. Percy turned his back on Nico to fill the thick plastic cup. The coffee was steaming, brittle-smelling, acrid in his nose as the bitter beans ground out into the drink. Percy twitched and turned around to set the cup on the counter (away from its assault on his senses, thank you) and caught Nico looked at his butt. Nico looked away and coughed, and Percy might have seen a bit of a blush, but it was hard to tell. Good. His bad mood was rapidly lifting in the company of a handsome dude who could appreciate a nice rear, if Percy did say so himself.

“Thanks.” Nico took the cup and slid a few dollars across the counter. He had nice hands, if a bit boney. _‘I wonder if he plays an instrument. Probably piano; he looks like a pianist._ ’ Percy mused to himself.

“No, thank you!” Percy winked, sliding the money over to the register and grabbing a towel to wipe off the counter, before it inevitably slipped his mind. He didn’t spill coffee or add-ins on the counter, never did anymore thanks to all the brow-beating from Grover, but it was a habit and gave him something to do with his hands.

After a moment, he realized the bell at the door hadn’t rung. Raised eyes met curious and slightly hesitant ones.

“Anything else for you?” He questioned. There were chairs around a table, right over there, ready and waiting for those that wanted to sit in the shop and mooch off the Wi-Fi. That was pretty normal. What wasn’t normal was what Nico was doing, which was to stand at the counter and fidget.

“Your number?” Nico responded smoothly, recovering, and so smoothly it took Percy a second to realize what had been said.

“Um.” Percy said for a moment, before the smile started tugging at the corner of his mouth. “With pleasure.” He grabbed a napkin and scribbled his cell number across it in large numbers. At the end, he scrawled ‘ _Call me. Percy_ ’.

“There you go.” Percy slid it across the counter in a mirror movement of Nico’s previous money exchange. Nico snatched it up and chanced a cocky smile before sweeping out of the shop.

_‘Percy, you lucky dog_.’ Percy thought to himself, water splashing up as he tossed the rag into the sink dismissively. ‘ _You lucky, lucky guy.’_

This would be one story to tell Rachel when she came by for her afternoon cuppa. Of course, he hoped Annabeth wouldn’t mind him seeing her classmate. He probably wouldn’t turn down a call if she did mind, but he’d at least take her feelings into account before he did anything like start dating the guy.

That was if Nico called him. If he didn’t, Percy might have to drag him over the counter and take drastic action, hopefully scarring Grover irreparably in doing so.

Percy smiled at the thought, knowing it wouldn’t take that. Nico seemed interested, Percy was interesting (to say the least. If nothing else, Percy would teach Nico the proper way to drink coffee without killing off his senses one by one.)

Then, Percy grabbed the money and started to slide the dollars into the register, rough paper under his fingers, and he felt it. Dusty, slippery grit over the surface.

Percy pulled his fingers back, staring unbelieving.

Rosy pink fingertips and a powdering of transferred chalk; it was already wedging it’s incriminating self under his fingertips and into his skin.

Nico had a dollar bill with pink chalk dust on it.

Coincidences don’t exist.

And Percy was royally, distressingly, incredibly screwed in the wrong way.

 

_Part II._

It was mid-afternoon when Nico texted. Rachel was already at Mycenae’s, working her way through a super-sweet, half-milk number in a personalized cup. Percy had filled her in on everything, gesturing wildly as he narrated his frustration at the vandal, his fascination with Nico, then his all-consuming whatever-the-hell he was now feeling at suspecting (knowing.) that they were one and the same. And hoping to everything he was currently holding dear (which wasn’t a lot. His bike, and his store, and that was all Percy had to call home.) that Nico would call. Percy still wasn’t sure if he wanted to hit the guy or stick a tongue down his throat, but both were hinged on him calling.

“Maybe he meant for you to find out.” Rachel mused, mouthing at her straw.

Percy squinched up his face, nonplussed. “Huh?”

“His hands were clean, right?” That was a habit Rachel had picked up from Annabeth, asking questions to lead the other person to your revelations instead of just saying it. It was annoying.

“Yes.” Percy remembered seeing them both clearly, not colored at all.

“So he didn’t brush some on there in handling the money as he went to hand it to you, right?”

“I guess not.”

“So we can assume…” She trailed off, clearly wanting him to finish her sentence. Grover chuckled from behind the counter, laughing at Percy’s apparent loss.

“That he put the chalk on the money on purpose!” Percy announced triumphantly. Then squished his face even further, because that didn’t make much sense.

“Why?” Percy asked. Rachel shrugged, slurping up the sludgy coffee between the ice cubes.

“No idea.” Grover translated from behind the counter. If nothing else could be said about grumpy-pants Grover, it could be said he was an invested friend. He always paid attention to Percy’s relationships (or lack thereof).

That, that was when Percy phone chirped the first three notes of Pet Semetary. He fished it out, bracing himself before reading it. He saw Rachel snort into her drink, and he flipped her off.

_‘Percy, it’s Nico. Would you like to grab a bite to eat tonight?_ ’ glowed on the screen in type-face.

Percy’s thumbs danced across the keyboard like skeletons. Yes? No? Yes, because you’re very hot and—for some reason—I very much want to know if you play piano? No, because you regularly deface my building with morbid graffiti?

Then, there was the trouble behind the issue of indecision. If Percy said yes, he could get attached (which he made a full-time job of avoiding) to someone he didn’t seem to like the illicit behavior of. If Percy said no, he may never know why this person (whose name was Nico, and that seemed to matter to his brain) was being all creepy and odd by engaging in that behavior.

What the hell. Percy wanted to know why.

_“Yes.”_ He typed it in determinately, and pressed ‘send’ before he had the chance to double-check himself. Tonight would be interesting. . . 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A date! A date! I just want to squish these characters together and toss them into a room for a while.   
> Of course, I can’t, because plot.   
> Review, my ducklings, if you love me (or my story. that too.)   
> Tobi.


	4. In A Diner.

 

Percy was jumpy, to say the least.  Nico had been annoyingly brief in his messages; Percy didn’t know where they were going or at what time Nico was going to show up. 

An hour before closing time, Grover waved him out of the shop with a “Go change.  You look bad.” 

“Aw,” Percy grinned at his friend widely, “you do care.  Although I don’t see how you can judge my clothes.”  Percy looked down at his own tee-shirt and jeans, and over at Grover’s slacks and suspenders. 

“Trust me, wear something nice.”  Grover prodded Percy out the door with the tip of a crutch.  “I want you to get him to stop this nonsense, whatever the cost.” 

“That’s kind of threatening.”  Percy wrinkled his nose.  “I’d rather not kill the guy or anything.” 

“No, don’t kill him.  Suck him off and then steal his chalk or something.” 

Grover slammed the door on Percy’s retort of, “but won’t he just buy more chalk?” 

_‘Let’s make that Plan B.’,_ Percy decided.  ‘ _Prostitution was never my life goal, regardless of how many problems it would solve.’_

Plan A would be to maybe talk about it, to chat over dinner, maybe to slip in a hint about not graffiti-ing their store…

Percy thought about a subtle way to slide that into conversation as he glared at his closet.  Annabeth had once joked that because he spent absolutely no time ‘in the closet’, he never had the time to perfect his wardrobe. 

So he had nothing to wear, and that was a low complaint even for him. 

In the end, he pulled on a clean shirt and then a green plain button down over that, switching his jeans to a darker, not coffee-stained pair.  There wasn’t much by way of tidying he could do with his hair, but overall he looked pretty good. 

He swept back into the shop and Grover swept out of it, casting a despairing look at Percy’s clothes and the store in general, particularly the front of the bricks. 

 

Nico swaggered into the shop about twenty minutes before they were set to close. 

“Hello.”  Percy greeted him happily.  He still had some caretaking to do at the store, but nothing he couldn’t do while checking out his date out of the corner of his eye.

His date.  Wow.  It was like this Nico and the Nico of his ever-loving-annoyance were two different people. 

This Nico, the Nico of his dinner plans, was striking in a pair of black jeans and white shirt, with leather shoes.  There was a streak of grey chalk along his inner sole, taunting Percy, reminding him that the two Nico’s weren’t actually separate people, only different in Percy’s eyes.  So far.  It was a relief that he wasn’t underdressed, which was a worry that had been plaguing him inexplicably for a while. 

When Percy finished wiping off the counter he led Nico out, locking the door securely. 

Nico had parked on the lot a few minutes’ walk away.  When they drew close enough Nico pressed the little fob, unlocking the car.  It was a nice car, dark red, an older mustang with a scratch along one side.

“What happened there?”  Percy pointed to it and asked loudly, a bit too loud honestly.  He had a habit of speaking in unusually big tones when he was excited, or nervous, both of which he now was. 

Nico didn’t even look at the scratch, merely ushered Percy towards the passenger side door and pushing Percy’s shoulder a little bit. 

He opened Percy’s door for him. 

Under any other circumstance, Percy would have bristled at the emasculation.   Then, he remembered that he was about to go on a date with a hot guy who was apparently gentlemanly enough to _open his damned car door for him_.  It was subtly romantic in a way Percy had never been treated before, and was just another smack-in-the-face of the criminal Percy knew Nico was. 

“Thanks.”  Percy slid into the seat and leaned out of the door to point at the scratch down the side, meeting Nico’s eyes expectantly.

Nico sighed, but not frustrated.  It was more of weary sigh of resigned fate, like he was adjusting to the (correct) idea that Percy would be asking questions all night.  Not to say Percy was going to be with him all night, as this was just their first date and give him a little credit, please. 

“Some idiot pulled a corner too quickly.”  He turned on the key with a loving pat on the dashboard. 

“So, you can afford a mustang but not to fix a scratch?”  Percy mused, half to himself.  “Sorry, sorry!”  He added, hoping he didn’t just insult the other man by prying into his financial affairs.  “The scratch looks fine; it adds character!”

Nico laughed.  Percy was expecting his laugh to be deeper, darker, and a bit creepy—like the rest of Nico Di Angelo.  What he got instead was a childlike chortle. 

“You,” Percy said before he could install the newest update of brain-to-mouth filter, “have an adorable laugh.” 

“Excuse me?”  Nico asked incredulously.  He was turning a corner, but he turned to look at Percy, aghast. 

“What?”  Percy asked innocently.  “You’ve never had someone call you adorable?”

“Not in a long time.”  Nico said defensively. “And I’m not!  Adorable, I mean!”

“You are.”  Percy muttered.  He looked over at Nico through his lashes and saw Nico swallow as they turned into a parking lot. 

“We’re here.”  Nico said a bit grumpily.

“Good.”  Percy finally took the chance to look around.  “Where’s here, exactly?”

“McDermott’s Diner.”

 

 

_Part II._

 

They grabbed a table and a waitress (not literally, but, you know). 

Nico asked Percy to order for him while he ran to the bathroom for a second, leaving Percy with his menu and a vague ‘something chicken’ order request. 

Percy settled on the barbeque chicken for Nico and the seafood platter for himself.  One thing about being raised on the coast: Percy never could get enough seafood.  

When Nico returned, Percy’s eyes were immediately drawn to the small, canvas bag at his side.  He was certain Nico didn’t bring it in, and Percy’s eyes latched on to a small streak of gunmetal grey dust on the corner. 

“New chalk.”  Percy observed with a smile, muttering around his water glass. Nico licked his lips and that’s where all of Percy’s attention defected to. 

“Yep.” 

“Why not get your own?”  Percy pointed looked at the wall, not Nico’s lips. 

“Because the cops have been keeping an eye on shops for artistry chalk.”  Nico said cheerily, unlike he was discussing his own investigation. 

“So you don’t buy it yourself.”  That made sense, to Percy, because if they were looking for a graffiti artist Nico was an obvious suspect.  He was slightly creepy and built like a ninja, and he had the ethereal feel of an artist or a dreamer. 

“Nope.”  Nico popped the ‘p’ noise, drawing Percy right back in to his lips.  Thankfully, the willowy waitress brought their food, so Percy didn’t have to pretend to be fascinated by the totally generic wall art any longer. 

As the waitress retreated, Nico muttered, “The owner of this place has a couple of kindergartners.  He gives me certain colors out of their kits in exchange of art lessons.”

“So, you’re an artist.”  Percy observed.  “I mean,” He amended, “I know that you are, but you’re an artist that others pay for work—Not just a hooligan.”

“Hooligan.”  Nico’s lips curved appreciatively, dastardly.  “That’s the first time I’ve been called that.  I like it.” 

“You’re not supposed to!” Percy pointed out.  “It’s an insult!”

“I don’t care.”  Nico’s eyes got a mischievous glint, and he looked around shiftily.

‘ _Oh, no_.’

“I’M A HOOLIGAN!”  Nico yelled loudly.

“Oh, no.” Percy repeated, out loud this time. 

“I’M A HOOLIGAN!”  Nico yelled it a bit louder, this time—loud enough that the people at the table next to them shifted and a waitress in the back looked at them, questioning. 

After a beat of about two seconds, normal dining chatter resumed. 

“See,” Nico took another bit of food, casually.  He wasn’t even blushing.  “They don’t care, either.” 

“They’re not the cops.”  Percy straightened up a bit, the desire to hide under the table slowly disappearing. 

“No, they’re not.”  Nico leaned over the table, sliding his plate to the side.  He stared over at Percy like a predator, and Percy swallowed and shifted.  Oh no.

“But the cops won’t know.”  Nico said quietly.  He didn’t so much as look to the sides to see if anyone was looking, if he could get in trouble by practically admitting something like this. 

“You seem awful sure about that.”  Percy noticed. 

“I am.” 

“How can you be?”  Percy wanted to know.  Why had Nico decided to let Percy in on this little secret, when any second now Percy could walk straight up to a cop and turn him in?  “I could turn on you.”

“Yeah,” Nico laughed the child’s laugh again, “but I know you won’t.”

 

After the check debate, dinner was paid for and they headed towards the car.  Percy paused right outside the passenger door.  He couldn’t get his mind off the scratch on the door—for some reason, it seemed very, very important. 

Percy reached out and traced one finger along the pale gunmetal streak that ran a divide along the red paint.  It caught the tip of his finger.

“Percy.”  Nico’s voice was right behind Percy’s head, scarily close.  Percy didn’t bother turning around.

“Hmm?” 

“Percy.”  Nico repeated.  Percy turned around slowly, finding himself face to face with Di Angelo. 

Their noses were practically brushing.  Percy exhaled shakily, thinking; there was no other reason for Nico to be this close to his face, this close to his lips, but Percy wouldn’t be the first one to move, not now.  Nico inhaled and his eyes fluttered, dark lashes brushing the edges of his cheeks.  Percy could see so much detail, this close, and Nico hadn’t pushed that last inch just yet.  What could he be waiting on?

“I’m thinking,” Nico broke the silence to speak into Percy’s space, warm air brushing across his lips, making the hairs on the backs of his neck stand up, “that if I kiss you now, you may let me.” 

“I’m thinking,” Percy’s brain finally processed that so he could answer with something other than ‘please’, “that you are smarter than you look.”

“Except, I’m not,” Nico’s shoulders shifted as he rested one hand against the car, moving the barest millimeter farther forward, like he was planning on standing and breathing Percy’s air back in for a while, “I’m actually considering it.”

“Why is that a bad thing?”  Percy asked quietly.  He felt a small rush when Nico’s eyes flitted down to his lips as he spoke, but they darted back up just as quickly. 

“Because we both know that you knowing this much is dangerous for me.  And, I think we both know, that I can be very dangerous for you.” 

‘ _What the hell._ ’ Percy thought, bracing a hand against the car, ‘ _I like danger._ ’  He moved the last inch forward and sealed their lips—for a moment. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Gratuitous kissing next chapter, I promise. 
> 
> Tobi.


	5. In A Mug.

Chapter five—In a Mug. 

 

_Part I._

Nico kissed like he lived—dangerous, unpredictable, unexpected.  

Percy looped his fingers all up in Nico’s hair and tangled them, and felt Nico do the same to his belt loops, tugging their hips together.  

Percy bit at Nico’s lip only to lick back over it soothingly, and Nico groaned softly into his mouth before pulling away and then coming back, harsher.  

After a couple moments Percy tasted blood and pulled away to say something, but Nico murmured, “shh, shh” before attacking his neck, and thoughts of split lips fled his mind.  

“Nico, I—“ Percy forgot what he was about to say when Nico scraped his teeth across his collarbone.  

Close—startlingly close—someone laughed loud and raucously.  Probably drunk.  It was enough to startle Nico and Percy away from each other like puppies in a thunderstorm.  

They stood there for a moment as loaded as a U-Haul.  

“Um.”  Percy said eloquently.  

“You should take me home.”  Nico stated.  It hung in the air.  

“Um.”  Percy’s already short-circuited brain lost its last fuse.  

In for a penny, out for a pound. 

“Yeah.”  

Nico actually looked startled, like he didn’t think that Percy would agree.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”  

Percy flopped backwards into the car and slipped backwards into the passenger seat.  Nico stood outside the door for a moment and stared at him, sprawled out, while fingering the car keys.  

“I can’t drive this car.”  Percy pointed out after a moment. 

“I don’t know where you live.” 

“I’ll direct you; it’s not far.” 

“Wonderful.”

 

Percy woke up to wrecked. . .everything.  

His studio was a wreck.  

His bed was a wreck. 

His _hair_ was a wreck.  

There was no Nico in sight. 

And his wall was a wreck. 

His entire wall and part of the window had been chalked over with a full, scale model of his bed, and him asleep on it.  The detail was intense, like a photo—Percy could see the strands of his hair that twisted out from his scalp after being grabbed, and a bruise forming over his collar bone he couldn’t even see on himself, and a little drool on his pillow where he slept. 

_That_ was not flattering.  

Percy walked through the studio slowly and grabbed his pair of boxers from where they’d been discarded on the floor near the TVTV, and pulled them on. 

He wandered into the kitchen and made a cup of coffee.  

He scalded his tongue on said coffee and wandered back towards the chalk-covered wall.  

It really was a good likeness, save for the script across the bottom.  

‘Percy,/ thanks for a great time./ I’ll see you soon,/ you may even see me./ —N./ p.s./ my ulterior motive died overnight.’

 

A knocking on the door interrupted Percy’s laughter.  

“Annabeth?  Rachel?”  Percy rubbed the last of the sleep out of his eyes as the girls brushed past him.  

“The shop was closed and we needed coffee.”

They looked like it, too.  Annabeth had a bad habit of forgetting to sleep when on a tangent, and Rachel was simply a coffee addict of the highest order.  Both girls were disheveled and cranky looking, and both of them stopped dead halfway to the kitchen.  

“That’s…”  Rachel looked shocked. 

“I know!” Percy held up a hand.  

“You…” Annabeth looked, sadistically, pleased.  

“I know!”  Percy said again.  

“I need coffee.”  Rachel said dumbly.  She reached a hand out and snatched Percy’s mug.  

She drained half of it in one go.  

“Wow.”  Rachel said.  

“I know.”  Percy said, taking the cup back and draining the other half. 

 

_Part II._

The first day, Percy was distracted.  Even Grover noticed it, loudly and chidingly, when he overflowed the second mug onto the floor.  

The second day Percy started to figure that Nico would show up again, or he wouldn’t, and Percy waiting around like some love-struck teenager wouldn’t change a damn thing.  

The third day, Percy figured his past self was an idiot, which Rachel agreed to, loudly and with a duh-you-freaking-idiot tone.  

Annabeth sighed into her coffee and shook her head, and Grover groaned.  

But on day four there was still no Nico.  

It was day seven—one full, freaking long week later—when Percy was slouching back into work and shoving his keys into his pocket, when he stopped short on the sidewalk, straddling the curb.  

Skeletons, and flowers.  Two vivid green smears in rough circle shapes stared like a mirror reflection out of one skeleton, painted like it was leaning onto the edge of the building.  

And, in the same handwriting Percy’d been waking up to for a week now, was a line.  

‘Missed you./ Did you miss me?’

“Yep.”  Percy announced to the empty street and the creepy drawing.  He stroked one finger down the chalk and drew away a grey-green color.  “Sure did, man.”  

 

“God damn it, Percy!”  Grover stomped into the building.  “Your ruffian boyfriend is back!”  

“I noticed.” Percy said dryly.  

“And he’s messed up the building again!”  

“It’s hardly permanent.”  

“But it’s annoying!”  

“Sure, Grover.”  

“The only reason you don’t think so is because the two of you. . .” Grover evidently couldn’t think of a way to say ‘fucked’ without being indelicate, so he waved his hands vaguely.  

“Maybe so.  Are you jealous?”  Percy drew out the last word for a long time, teasingly.  

Grover snorted.  “Yes.  Green with envy.  And chalk.” He pointed at the side of his jeans, brushed with green chalk from the doorway.  

“He’s not doing any _real_ harm.”  Percy pointed out unconvincingly.  

There was the small problem of Nico disappearing sometimes without reason, and the bruised knuckles Percy noticed the night he’d spent wrapped up in them.  

It was fishy, to say the least.  

But he didn’t get another hint at the darker side of their graffitist until that night.  

 

Percy was brushing his teeth, humming and dancing along to some generic pop song on the radio, when the voice outside his bathroom spoke.

“Percy?”  

“Jesus Christ!”  Percy spat and rinsed his mouth rapidly as the door swung open. 

“How’d you guess?”  Nico deadpanned as he swung the bathroom door open and leaned against the doorframe. 

He looked like a puppet with a few strings cut.  

Percy leaned forward and dragged him in by the wrist, and reached a hand up to his face.  

Tentative fingers probed the black eye, the split lip, the blood starting to crust at the edges of Nico’s mouth.  

“Jesus Christ.”  Percy whispered again. 

“Still no.”  Nico said with a crooked grin and his childish laugh.  He pushed Percy’s hand away and reached a hand towards a washcloth on the counter, pausing right before he reached it.  

“I need a spot to stay for a few days while something blows over.”  His voice was soft, but there was something hopeful creeping into the sentence.  

Pleading eyes. 

Percy turned away.  ‘ _In for a penny. . ._ ”

He turned back with a clean washrag and pushed Nico back onto the tub rim, ignoring the wince as he started to dab at the blood.  

“You owe me one hell of an explanation.”  

“I owe you a hell of a lot more than that.”

 

As Nico told a story starting with, “So, I was tagging this spot of overpass downtown when the cops drove by”, Percy brewed some coffee.  

When walking to get the sugar (with Nico walking backwards in front of him, rattling off the story of his night), Percy stumbled over a discarded shoe and fallen into Nico’s gesturing hands and gotten elbowed in the eye.  It turned out fine, as Nico kissed his eye (and his lips and his shoulder and a lot of other things) better, and they’d stayed there at that spot on the carpet for a while the coffee got cold.  

Once again a lip split with the force of Nico on his mouth, in between utterances of ‘I swear, I’m not a bad guy,’ and, ‘just a criminal and just for a while, i swear I’m gonna stop’.  

Percy could care less, as long as Nico didn’t get _hurt_ hurt, in the way schoolyard kids said ‘ _like_ like’, as if repeating it made it more damning.  

Because if Percy was hoping Nico wouldn’t get _hurt_ hurt, it meant he was pretty damned anyway.  

 

In the morning, Percy looked nearly as bad as Nico did.  He had a matching shiner and split lip, anyway.  Nico woke up before Percy and sat on the floor, staring at the still-chalked wall with a cocked head, in Percy’s boxers.  

Percy just pulled on sweatpants and plodded over to him, running a hand through Nico’s hair, which was mussed and chalk-streaked.  

Nico flopped his head onto Percy’s leg.  

“Do you work today?”

“No.”  It was Friday, Percy’s day off.  He took Friday’s off mainly on Grover’s request, so Grover would always have an excuse not to go to some social function (usually his terrifying uncle/patron, Uncle D’s, wild garden parties).  

Speaking of the devil (er, the awkward friend), the phone rang and it was him when Percy answered.  

“Tell me he’s not at your apartment.”  Grover said instead of a traditional—and admittedly overrated, in Percy’s opinion—hello.  

“He’s at my apartment.”  

“Damn.”  

“What?  Why?”  

“Because,” Rachel spoke this time, over an indignant squawk in the background that was Grover, presumable fussing because Rachel snatching the phone, “He made the papers.”

Percy set the phone on his shoulder.  “You made the papers.”  

Nico nodded calmly.  

“Front page?”  Percy asked. 

“Nah, little part on page three.”

“You didn’t make the front page.”  Percy aimed at the cross-legged criminal.  

“I’m so disappointed.”  Nico said blandly.   

Rachel was yelling something through the phone.

“What was that, Rache?” Percy said into the phone.  

“I said, it’s kind of hot.”

“Uhh. . .” 

“No, it’s not; it’s bad!”  Annabeth yelled, muffled, from the background.  

“Uhh. . .” 

“Give me that!” There was a brief scuffle on the other end of the line, during which Percy rocked back and forth on his heels and hummed slightly.  He tilted his head to hold the phone in place, and held up the back of a pan off the counter.  

His black eye was pretty dang swollen, and his lip as well.  He looked like he’d gotten into a fistfight, like Nico did.  Hooligan. 

“Percy?”  Grover’s voice echoed out of the phone.  

“Yeah?”  Percy set down the makeshift mirror and held up the receiver.  

“Be careful, man.  Sure this is worth it?” 

“Yeah, man.  I’m pretty sure.”  

_Kind of.  Maybe.  Pretty sure._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yep. Percy got laid. And, lo and behold, Nico’s as bad of news as anyone Percy picked would have been. 
> 
> Black eyes for everyone. 
> 
> Thanks for the renewed interest, my ducklings. 
> 
> Tobi.


	6. In A Shop (Again.)

_Part I._

‘. . .unidentified perpetrator. . .’

‘. . .public property. . .’

‘. . .criminally defaced. . .’

‘. . .morbid. . .’

‘. . .buildings damaged. . .’

‘. . ., the county chairman, points towards the recent drop in business revenue. . .’

 

“Well, this is inspiring.”  Percy set the newspaper on the counter and followed it with his forehead.  Thunk.  

“Relax, Percy.”  Rachel said from the corner, where she was nursing a green tea instead of her usual coffee.  

“Easy for you to say.  You’re in a stable relationship with a not-criminal.”  Grover said sharply from where he was brewing something pale and frothy for a couple of teenage girls.  They looked startled and shifted on their feet.  Grover smiled placatingly.  

“He’s not like, a _criminal_ criminal.”  Percy pointed out.  There it was again: _like_ like, _hurt_ hurt, _criminal_ criminal.  

Four raised eyebrows and two girls scurrying away with coffee safe in hands. 

“He’s a Bona-fide, in-the-newspaper criminal.” Rachel waved the newspaper with a woosh, crinkly sound to punctuate her point.  

“For _graffiti_.”  Percy countered, pointing to the black and white picture of an overpass on the west side of town: the overpass was covered in the silloughettes of people, men and women of varying shapes and sizes, as if the concrete of the overpass was tinted glass and filled with people. 

But the figures had their arms raised against the glass, as if pounding—one man’s shadow held a child’s shadow in protective arms—one figure was huddled against a side in a curled position.  

The figures were trapped inside the overpass, being driven over by an onslaught of cars on their way to and from work, ever stuck in their lives.  

‘Don’t join us.  It’s a trap.’ was blazoned in rust-red letters across the top of the work, but not in Nico’s usual handwriting.  It was blockier and bolder, but Percy could see familiar edges in the way the ‘a’ curved, in the circled periods.  

It was daring.  What, exactly, was the trap?  Was it a literal, like people had fallen into the overpass somehow and couldn’t get out?  Or did it have a deeper meaning—was life a trap, was crossing the overpass a trap? 

Percy made a mental note to check with Nico, when he got home. 

Also, he’d have to see _how_ the _hell_ Nico got out over the overpass.  

“So,” Percy turned to refill some innocent soul’s cup, “It’s like barely being a criminal at all.” 

“No, it isn’t.”  Annabeth countered cheerily from the corner.  For someone who seemed remarkably sure that Nico was a criminal and ‘no good’ for Percy, she seemed very chill.  “He’s a criminal.”

“With great work!”  Rachel said, appreciatively looking at the picture. 

The customer shifted uncomfortably as Percy handed him his cup.  

“Yeah, it is great work.”  Grover sounded like it pained him to say it.  “I love the idea of the human race trapping themselves by the construction of overpasses—very ecocentric.”  

“You may be projecting a little, dude.”  Grover had a thing for rants about the ecosystem and how humans were wrecking it.  It was all valid, and Percy knew it, but that may not have been what Nico was going for.  

“I think it’s more about the nature of the human aesthetic—we strive to build, and our desire to build something ‘permanent’ is our undoing.”  Annabeth said around a muffin.  

“Again, projecting. . .”  Percy started.  

“It’s not one man—I think it’s a whole government-based operation, distracting us from a bigger conspiracy!”  The customer said, pausing near the door.  

The four in the shop looked at him.  

He muttered something about ‘unaware’s’ as he ducked out the door with his coffee.  

“You think Nico’s involved in any conspiracy cover-ups?”  Annabeth asked.  

“No.”  Percy couldn’t see Nico working with the government for this kind of thing.  

“Yeah, me neither.” Grover tossed over his shoulder as he moved to the back of the shop to grab more un-taste-tested muffins.  

“What?!” He said crankily as he reemerged.  “I may not like the guy much, but he’s got a crooked kind of integrity—that doesn’t involve helping anyone.”  He tacked on when Percy started smiling a little to widely.  

“Maybe he just does it because he can.  Maybe there’s no real ‘deeper meaning’.”  Rachel offered.  “I mean, imagine if you had that kind of artistic skill—“

“ _You_ don’t have to.”  Annabeth harrumphed.  

“—You’d want to do things with it!”  Rachel finished as if her partner hadn’t spoken.  

“Yeah, but _illegal_ things?  Why not just get some crayons and paper, like everyone else?”  Percy couldn’t help asking, even though he knew none of these guys would know.  

“Like six-year-olds.”  Annabeth said on her way out the door with another muffin.  “C’mon, Rache.  We’ve got people to smell up!”  

“I’m sure there’s a better way of putting it.” Rachel grumbled.  “Percy, find out his motivation and text me.” 

“When did my personal life become everyone’s business?!”  Percy demanded of a mostly empty shop.  

“When you took home our graffiti artist.”  Grover shoved a muffin at Percy. 

 

_Part II._

Nico was on him the moment he stepped in the door.

“Is that the paper?”  Nico grabbed it without waiting for Percy to respond, and sped through the article.  

“Good.  They’re riled up.”  He muttered under his breath with a predatory look.  

“Nice to see you’re enjoying yourself.”  Percy muttered, and only half-sarcastically.  

“Oh, I am.”  Nico turned the predatory look on Percy.  “Problem with that?”

“No.”  Percy said, and this time he was entirely serious.  

Nico searched his eyes for a moment, still clutching the newspaper.  

Nico nodded.  

Percy nodded.  

Nico shoved himself into Percy’s arms, mashing their lips together and licking his way into Percy’s mouth, battling for dominance and inevitably winning it. 

‘ _Here we go again_ ,’ Percy thought as Nico started tugging his shirt up and off, discarding the shirt and the newspaper as one.  ’A _t least it’s only sex.’_

Afterwards, Percy lay flopped on the floor, limbs wobbly.  The newspaper was laying about three feet from his face, the words ‘It’s A Trap’ scrawled across the face of the paper.  

Nico’s head was resting on his chest.  

_‘It’s a trap.’_

Nico breathed in and Percy felt the spread of ribs expand on his hip. 

_‘It’s a trap.’_

“It’s a trap.”  Percy said out loud. 

“Huh?”  Nico lifted his head and rested his chin in Percy’s sternum.  

“‘It’s a trap.’” Percy recited. 

Nico hummed. 

“What’s a trap?”  

“What isn’t?” 

That was a little too deep. 

“Yeah, but what was _the_ trap?” 

“It’s a different trap for different people.”  

“So, like, it means something different for everyone who sees it?”

“Sure.”  

Percy waited for a moment. 

“What’s the trap for you?”

“Love.”  

“Oh.”  

Nico snuggled his head back into Percy’s rib (which really, shouldn’t be that snuggly), and it didn’t even seem to bother him that Percy kept taking deep breaths, jostling his head.  

Oh well.  There were less comfy places to sleep, Percy mused, than here, on the floor, next to a boy and his headlines.  

 

Nico wasn’t there when Percy woke up, around ten pm, with a stiff neck and sore legs.  His split lip, which had just started to heal, had busted open again.  Percy licked over it and tasted metallic blood.  

Percy walked around his studio once, to get his legs a bit un-stiffened, then fell into bed and back to sleep.  

When he woke up for good, he showered off the evidence of the day and the night (or, what would come off; the hickeys, bruises and mental wear wouldn’t wash), and got redressed.  

He drove his bike, Blackjack (everyone names their car—even if it’s only ‘Baby’ or ‘stupid hunk of metal’, it’s a name and Percy’s sure of that), and reveled in the crisp air that swept his hair back and stung his bare knuckles and nose.  It was relaxing, driving this motorbike—both simultaneously soothing and exhilarating.  

The calm feeling lasted until he drove up in front of Mycenae’s Coffee and saw the colors.  

Percy slowed in front of the curb and stopped, resting one boot on the concrete for balance as he looked; then, he shook himself and drove to his usual parking spot in the alley and locked up.  

Percy, hollow-feeling, unlocked the shop and opened it up.  He turned on the lights and the machine, and rested his head on the counter.  

There was a giant mousetrap chalked onto the front of his shop.  

Symbolism was damning. 

 

 

 

Tobi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Traps! Traps, everywhere! If you can stop yourself from hearing the voice of that one guy from Star Wars, this chapter isn’t half bad ;) 
> 
> I have a gap in a storyline for the next chapter. Shoot me a one-word prompt and I’ll see about working it in. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fun, fun, coffee shop AU!
> 
> I want your reviews. If I get this one, it'll be put higher up on my priority chain.
> 
> Tobi.
> 
> P.S. Did you notice my (clever *pats self on back*) Greek myth and Percy Jackson references?


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